


Lagniappe

by traditionalfire



Series: Miraak/Arya the Dragonborn [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traditionalfire/pseuds/traditionalfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an anonymous prompt on Tumblr: "In the future when Arya becomes pregnant, how does she break the news to Miraak? How does he react?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lagniappe

Apocrypha held many horrors, as all realms of Oblivion do. There were monsters, of course. Creatures that were not only physically terrifying, but psychologically as well, once Miraak came to understand just what the Seekers really were, and that he might someday suffer the same fate. And there were environmental hazards, like the pits of acid scattered about and whipping tentacles that seemed to exist only to keep him constantly on guard. But the worst of it came in the form of what the realm took from him. He could not sate his carnal needs, as no other mortals lasted long enough in the infinite library to establish any sort of relationship with, although that particular element of humanity disappeared into the recesses of his mind after a few hundred years. (Until a petite yet voluptuous  Breton appeared before him, that is.) He could not eat, and even if he could, everything would probably taste like the inky, moldy miasma that permeated the air.He could not sleep, and if he tried, it brought no dreams and no satisfaction. He hadn’t appreciated life’s most basic pleasures before his “death,” but once he returned to Nirn, he did his damnedest to change that.

All of this made for a completely valid argument for sleeping in whenever Arya tried to drag him from bed early. (Well, early by  _his_ standards, which is to say, before noon.) Twelve years into their relationship, and she still thought she could change him. Her perseverance was amusing.

When the midday sun became unbearable, leaving him no choice but to groan and finally make the commitment to wake up, he was surprised to discover that she was still in bed with him. Such a hypocrite, his  _mal dovah_. He pulled her close and chuckled when she mumbled something belligerent.

"Not such an early riser today, are you?" he purred into her ear, leaning down to nip at her neck. A lazy swat in his general direction was the best comeback she could muster. "Did I wear you out,  _dii lokalaat kiim_?”

"Shut it." Arya burrowed deeper under the furs, earning another bite, on the shoulder this time. "I don’t feel well," she mumbled. His demeanor immediately changed.

"Are you ill?" He gently rolled her to face him, concern furrowing his brow.

"I’m just a little nauseous. And tired. I’ll be fine." When he did not look satisfied, she reached up to stroke his scarred cheek. Wrinkles were starting to settle around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, and the hair falling around his face was slowly becoming more silver than brown, but he was still the most handsome man she knew.

Miraak laid his hand over her belly and let healing magic diffuse through his fingertips. “If this doesn’t help with the nausea, I can prepare a potion.”

Something felt off, as the magicka dissipated between them. He was intimately well-versed in everything about his wife, from flesh to soul, but the familiar low hum at the back of his mind that was always present around her had changed. Surely not overnight. Perhaps it had been a gradual change and he was only now noticing because of the sudden transfer of energy between them.

Confused, he concentrated on that hum. It seemed as though a faint echo resonated along with Arya’s  _dovah sil_ , almost like a second—

_Oh._

"What?" she squeaked, as she scooted back up the bed. Miraak’s wide-eyed astonishment had her worried.

"You’re…" He couldn’t bring himself to remove his hand from her belly, even though it felt no different to the touch. His legacy was just underneath his fingers, a dream he’d long thought lost, growing inside the only person worthy of it. Words were failing him, for once.

She stared at him in confusion for several seconds before the placement of his hand gave it away.

"Oh!" Now they both wore the same expression, and both stared down at her abdomen. "But I thought… We tried for so long."

"Nonetheless, you’re carrying my child," he murmured, still in shock. " _Our_  child. Our  _Dovahkiin_  child.” Their eyes met, and he smiled the most genuine, heartfelt smile she’d ever seen on him.

"Wasn’t I supposed to be the last?" She shook her head, inadvertently worsening her growing dizziness. "There was a prophecy and everything."

"Perhaps the prophecy was wrong. Or perhaps it was just a metaphor." He focused once more on that echo, just to be sure, and there was no mistaking it - there was another dragon soul, small and weak but alive inside her. "I doubt anyone but Mora predicted that we’d meet, after all."

"Oh, I’m going to puke," she groaned, and darted from the bed.

He would follow, to ensure she was all right, but for just a moment, he sat and let the knowledge that he was going to be a father wash over him. Sometimes their inevitable return to Apocrypha weighed heavily on him, and the few decades of freedom Arya had bartered for seemed pointless. A child changed everything, though.


End file.
